


The Holy Fool

by luna65



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-31
Updated: 2015-08-31
Packaged: 2018-04-18 06:42:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4696022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luna65/pseuds/luna65
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A step into the infinite, for the journey has no beginning and no end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Holy Fool

**Author's Note:**

> This story could be considered additional scenes in S3 ep13 "The Wrath of the Lamb"  
> There are mentions of other characters, though Will, Hannibal and Alana are the only ones actually portrayed.

"If Will is advancing this strategy, then let him ask it of me himself, man to man." Hannibal declared, as always assuming his proud stance in the center of his empty cell.

Alana's eyebrows raised. "No one is _human_ to you, if you're honest about it."

"Humanity is a challenging construct," Hannibal noted. "And that is why so many prefer to be -" he paused for emphasis, "sheep."

"And now you're to be the sacrificial lamb," Alana said, with just a touch of smugness.

"Drama arose from the need to enact sacrifice in a symbolic fashion. I might be convinced to take my appointed place in the pageant. But you don't agree with Jack that I am The Devil himself?"

Alana's expression was cool mockery. " _Of course_ you believe you are The Devil, Hannibal...he gets all the best lines."

He watched her stroll towards the doors, recalling the insouciant swing of her hips whenever she felt self-satisfied. Recalling how she had risen from his former bed many times and enacted such a walk to the bathroom, or across the room to put on her clothes.

"And the last laugh, don't forget that," he called out to her linen pinstriped back, her dark coif brushing the collar of her suit jacket.

Her exiting glare told him she hadn't forgotten any of his menace; she would, in fact, be haunted by it till the day he finally reclaimed what was his.

 

The one he loved had damned himself with his admission of his complicity in Hannibal's downfall. But he had forgiven Will long ago, in those rooms of his memory palace where they resided together, in eternal felicity. Because he knew it was just as much an admission of Will's obsession as of his own, even given the "mic drop" of the phraseology. It was all degrees of intensity.

"For someone so adept at creating lures, I see the cheapness of this one, Will. It is not up to your usual standards of craftsmanship."

But for all the worlds - known and unknown, broken and whole, free and caged - Hannibal was willing to cede them all for that one whispered word, layered with deep longing.

"Please."

And then the expression upon his exquisite face, which said everything else Hannibal had been hungering for. He tasted it like those dishes he could only now experience in his memory: rich and complex, myriad flavors, textures and impressions. The world lingered on his tongue and the world could burn. Will Graham had bowed to his pleasure, his agency, and said _please_. Granted him the courtesy he deserved.

Because this was certainly a poor excuse for a plan, but no matter. He was needed, and when needed he would always do his best to solve a problem, even if it was not in the way he was expected to.

 

In the wake of the escape attempt which _wasn't_ faked, Will was numb at the body count, given his experience with massacres. During his own previous escape from police custody he hadn't killed anyone, but of course the true orchestrators of this scene would ensure no one would survive who wasn't being saved for later.

They did not speak during their journey, stopping at what appeared to be another of Hannibal's boltholes so they could switch cars, taking off again in an older sedan which did not appear to utilize any of that invasive technology which would make it easy for the FBI to potentially track their flight. Hannibal had planned for such a contingency long ago, Will realized. Probably long before they had met. And it was useless to ask where they were going, it did not matter. All roads led to The Dragon.

He found his thoughts were localized to the recent past, for the future was a dark forest, unilluminated, though the moon rebuked his efforts to discount her, visible even now as the daylight lengthened into golden shadows. He smiled at the thought of his parting taunt to Bedelia, as he knew she was the one who had assisted Hannibal in reaching the conclusion to consume him, a last distraction to prevent her ersatz husband from eating _her_. 

"Fair is fare," he thought, allowing himself to be pleased at his pun, "you play, you pay."

They were headed to a terminus, and anything else was unknowable. That was the way of endings, unless a revelation was part of the process. But Will did not expect to learn anything which was not already writ upon his psyche by countless acts of violence. A darkness bloomed within him, black as blood in moonlight.

 

"It's like something out of a Gothic novel," Will said, looking off toward the horizon as the wind ruffled his curls.

"Indeed," Hannibal said, nodding his head. "The remote estate, the mysterious owner, the dreadful secret." The emphasis of his voice then pulled Will's eyes to his own. "The ingenue," he murmured, flavoring the phrase with more of the flirtatious nuance he had employed earlier in their escape.

Will's response was a derisive chuckle more breath than utterance. "I am not as frail as I appear."

Another nod. "No you are not. You contain the proper stuff to survive a conflagration...or two."

 

The previous mention of Abigail brought her forth to Will as they sat before the view he imagined had cost Hannibal a great deal of money; in his mind he saw her smiling at the familiarity of these rooms.

"When you brought Abigail here," he said, struggling to keep his voice even and calm, "did you imagine me here as well?"

"Yes," Hannibal replied, fingering the crease in his trouser leg. "We reside at our dinner table, always, basking in the warmth of our chosen bond. Of our love. Our family. The teacup reassembled. Time reversed and redeemed."

"You did what you did out of love."

"For you both."

"Your love has a high mortality rate."

There was silence for a moment, then Hannibal made the smallest of sounds, not quite a snicker.

"Do you know the Major Arcana of the Tarot, Will?"

"Only by reputation."

"The null card is The Fool. In traditional depictions The Fool is a vagabond, accompanied by a small dog who reprises his buoyant step beside him. It is significant, that it is null, it symbolizes a path with no beginning or end. The journey is all, and the journey is forever. Have you seen the image?"

"He's stepping off a cliff, I think?"

"Yes. But he looks forward, not down. He looks ahead, into the infinite, into possibility. The Holy Fool is hopeful for change, the journey which transforms stasis into action, and knowledge. But only if one is ever moving."

"Why does that make him a fool?"

"A fool is only hopeful that he will not fall. Are you?"

"I've already fallen, the only question is how much farther there is to go."

Hannibal smiled his slight smile, which always managed to look inviting and terrible at the same time.

"No beginning, no end."

He rose from his seat, and Will wandered over to the windows, looking up at the moon. His eyes adjusted to the darkness beyond and he spied just the slightest glint among the trees beyond the drive. He sighed, feeling the darkness within shift and settle into a sort of resignation. Hannibal reentered the room after a few minutes with a bottle of wine and glasses. Will turned and looked at the bottle, a ping of recollection sounding in his thoughts to view it.

"Is that -"

"We will enjoy it now, you and I, as we enjoy all things we have waited so long to savor."

And even when the world shattered and dreadful chaos intervened, Will did let the wine linger upon his tongue, a sacrament of whatever he might still hope for...in this moment, upon the precipice of change.

He wondered if he would learn who was meant to be The Fool, and who was merely foolish.


End file.
